Pig–Hoo-o-o-o-ey Last year in Wiltshire I met a Tamworth. This year at my club Tamworth sausages were on the menu. As you know, the best way to ensure the survival of a rare breed is to eat it.
On a wet Sunday afternoon at boarding school time seems to pass slowly. Today a week passes more quickly. This is because aged eight a single afternoon takes up as much memory space as a month now that my memory has become chocker.
In Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen. This month in the SE of England it’s an Indian summer and yesterday Bertie and I went to Hertfordshire.
I read The Lord of The Rings and associated Mordor’s black volcanic plain with Morden at the end of the black Northern Line – somewhere to be avoided, at least by me as I am not a brave Hobbit.
Government backed “levelling up” has mixed results. That’s my way of saying taxpayers’ money is usually spent as ineffectively in this area as it is for overseas aid.